


Born to Be Together

by doctor_jasley



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Fluff, M/M, scifipunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #4:Pete/Gabe: "Don't you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born to Be Together

**Author's Note:**

> Title is another quote from "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon. I suggest listening while [reading](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjdIJ5ZSpSk)

The back alleys and secret passages of New Vega are a veritable labyrinth. If you don’t know where you’re going, getting lost is the least of your worries. Like any viable puzzle maze to ever exist, if you end up somewhere you don’t belong, the city will dispose of you for its own amusement.

Gabe counters that threat by fitting in everywhere. He’s a natural _threader_. Maybe not born into the lifestyle, or even bred for it, but boss, is it a thrill to slip in and out of the underground districts without being caught and sacrificed to the neon idols of personality.

It’s an undeniable _high_ influencing _twitch codelings_ into adding more musical flavor to their streams without having his ident bio hacked to infinity and beyond. Gabe’s name might not be _badge funder_ worthy, but he _likes_ it. 

Sure, he could nick a few comm keys for a new ident file. The _minties_ _love_ him. Gabe brings them too many little goodies for them to drop his services of swift digits and even swifter quibs. 

There’s a blur of black and purple to his right. Gabe pulls out an ear bud to listen for trouble. Not that he has the time to pinpoint anything that _isn’t_ coming from his mDrive. A vice-like grip has already cinched tightly around his wrist, instantly disrupting his statue status outside of Tafties.

And, at that moment, he’s off, high tops barely skimming the dirty asphalt as they flee the scene. Pete’s laughter trails in their wake, contagious as waker-shaker syndrome amongst the _webbies_. Gabe doesn’t know what the occasion is, but that doesn’t matter.

He’s in.

There’s an adventure to be had. Why should he care for consequences when living in the now is much more his style?

The answer, obviously is, _he doesn’t care_. Because, fuck that shit. Stories were made to be told, not heard second-hand from the lips of acquaintances and strangers.

The skid of sneakers across blacktop is loud as they come to a skipping halt against an alley wall in no sentience land between twitch territory and the blotter kingdom. Pete’s breath is warm against Gabe’s arm, barely missing a beat. Once a _runner_ , always a runner. 

Gabe’s not nearly as pitch perfect. He’s a threader, not an athlete. His music slows as he does, until the bass is gentle. 

That’s just not his style. Dragging Pete into a quick kiss instantly kicks the mDrive back into gear. Blissfully, nothing but a heavy beat and staccato electronica blares through his left ear.

Much better.

Once the moment’s passed, Gabe pops out his other ear bud, leaning against the wall, leisurely, before he even thinks to say anything.

“So, afternoon jog?”

Pete’s grin is huge and his laugh would be annoying in anyone else’s voice. “Something like that.”

Gabe drapes himself over Pete to peer around him, only to have his attention diverted by a hand on his chest pushing him back against the marred metal.

“No looking.”

Which is fine. Pete can have his little secrets.

That doesn’t mean Gabe can’t ask questions. “Have anything shiny on you?”

A handful of Digi-Shells glitter from the neon lighting mounted on either side of the alleyway.

Gabe shakes his head in amusement. He shouldn’t be surprised. Like calls to like.

One threader will _always_ find another. It makes the tale sweeter each time it’s regaled, time and time again.

Gabe’s story is no different. Every color and sound became sharper once Pete fell into his orbit. Gabe’s never going to complain.

Pete rolls the Digi-Shells in his palm. He’s the picture of a _blotter_ pleased with their trade _trips_.

“I need six more to barter in the Heart Lines. Want in?” 

Of course Gabe does. He never misses a chance to pocket from the beach. That doesn’t mean he’s going to follow without a comment on Pete’s prowess with nimble fingers.

“You’re holding back, Peteling. No way you couldn’t have nicked twelve yet. But _sure_. Today’s been a broomer. Was dying from tedium.”

Pete draws him into a biting kiss before darting out of the alley, inroute to the trawler ropes that lead to the gangway shortcuts heading into Shell Emporium. 

“Try to keep up.” 

Like Gabe has to _try_. Pete’s making the last corner before reaching the reinforced amber nylon when he’s passed on the outside. After that, it becomes an exuberant game of racing down the suspended corridors, weaving in and out of foot traffic while yelling excitedly at each other what they’ll buy with their imaginary credits. 

Once through the emporium’s sixth story glass doors they duck into a fresher for a breather. It does them no favors being out of breath and grinning like minties with specs for the new Shell 5.0 Monetary Devices.

Ten ticks of making out in stall turns into fifteen. Then it’s to their objective. Stealing from richies with too many refillables is like scooping up sand from the coasts of Sharvey. Hence why Gabe calls the Shell Emporium of Luxury and Leisure the _beach_. 

A space later, Gabe’s the one rushing by Pete to nab _his_ wrist. There’s a mini wave of _blues_ coming their way. And Gabe has _no_ intention of being apprehended. A cramped four by four square is _not_ his idea of a good time, even if Pete’s sharesies with him. 

On the third floor, Pete redirects their current to the EO passageways. They spill through the metal door like an ocean tide. Then they’re rushing for the slope exit into employ parking.

Thirteen ticks and they’re hidden behind a parcel truck deciding on a change in local.

“The monarchy’s holding a flasher. I have two dye squares if you wanna come with.”

Gabe could easily decline the offer. Swiping credit chips has been fun, but he can always drop by twitch territory with his extra bounty for a cushion to crash with for the night. The blues wouldn’t think to hunt him there.

However, this is _Pete_. There’s no way in darkness he’s walking away. Pete might as well be Gabe’s past, present, and future with how deeply he’s burrowed himself into Gabe’s internal spark.

It’s destiny or something.

“If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was _ask_.”

And like that, they’re off again. Another adventure unfurling under their feet.


End file.
